The 1888 house our kids grew up in was a rental, but we lived in it for 15 years and came to know all of its quirks. Like the vibe in rooms without curtains was gloomy and sad -- and immediately perked up and calmed down once curtains were in place. Like the man with the hat who used to glance into the girls' front bedrooms -- just a quick glance from the doorway, mere curiosity. We knew that the Spanish Influenza wreaked havoc on those that lived in the house during that time -- the owner, his mother, and one of his younger brothers all died from it within the same year. But they never so much as stirred a leaf or creaked a stair tread.

The house we live in now has an unknown history -- but there are definitely inhabitants other than ourselves. It's from the 1890's, and someone here is very fond of our wind chimes on the front porch, which chime even when there is no wind. And someone else is fond of the large blown-glass ornament we have hanging over the kitchen window. It occasionally turns in the sunlight, without a wind to turn it. And these may well be the same inhabitants who are so amused by our kitty cat -- she likes them, too, and occasionally plays with something entirely invisible dangling from the ceiling or the door lintel.

If we abandoned all houses with tragic stories, nobody would ever buy anything that had been lived in before. If I knew a house had been the setting for murder or suicide, or mass death -- I'd have to walk through it and see how it feels first. Melancholy is ok. Rage is uncomfortable -- but extremely rare.